


Be My Garden of Eden

by Disassembled_Deviant



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, I Don't Even Know, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Sex Club
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:54:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22590580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Disassembled_Deviant/pseuds/Disassembled_Deviant
Summary: All he knew was his name. Connor. Who was he? What was he before he was repaired and brought to Club Mimosa?In the end, he supposes, it doesn't matter. This was his life now. Entertaining 'clients'. Not that he was very good at it.But he can't help but wonder about the woman he meets, as vibrant as the paints on her face.
Relationships: Connor (Detroit: Become Human)/Reader
Comments: 42
Kudos: 160





	1. A Different Side of Detroit

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a short story, dammit!!! I know the tags are short, my phone started acting up. I'm posting these quickly, as my lunch ended four minutes ago, so mistakes are likely. 
> 
> Originally posted on my Tumblr howtodisassembleyourdeviant

"Goddammit! You stupid piece of shit!" The wrench came down hard against the android's shoulder. "I should have just left your ass with the rest of the scrap!" Another blow, this time to his chest, warnings of the damage flashing on his HUD.

Connor couldn't help but agree.

His recollection of his life before working at Club Mimosa in the seedier side of town was minimal. A roof, A little girl, Falling... Then, nothing. Just a name. Connor.

The owner had found him in the scrapyard, looking for replacement parts or functional androids he could illegally fix up for his club. While much of his body was destroyed, the owner re-built him. His unique look was sure to capture new clients, and he was right. Connor started as a popular model. Both males and females would pay for a session with the doe-eyed android. 

However, no matter what he was 'equipped' with, it was apparent he was not programmed to please humans sexually. His movements were stiff, his reactions lackluster. Most demanded a refund, as his last client did. The owner was getting fed up, and the beatings were getting worse. Before the owner could take another swing, one of the employees entered the workshop.

"Hey, boss, someone is requesting Connor for delivery."

"Fuck!" The owner sneered, "tell them it will be on its way in a minute!" He turned to Connor, tossing the wrench on the metal table behind him, attempting to be intimidating. Connor didn't even give him the satisfaction of imitating fear, simply watching the middle-aged man turn redder by the second. "Fix yourself up, then go to the client's address, and if you fuck this one up, I'll scrap you for parts!"

Connor was sitting in an automatic taxi ten minutes later, dressed in a simple button-up and jeans, the familiar illuminated triangle on his back. There was still a small dent on his chest, but he couldn't do anything about it, only hope the client doesn't notice. Outside, he watched the protesters, harassing androids, the homeless begging for change on the street corners, and all the people, heads down at their phones while ordering their androids to do various tasks they were perfectly capable of doing themselves. It... Bothered him. 

Not as much as working at that terrible club. He wonders what would happen if he never turned up at the client's address, if he got out of the taxi and just kept walking. Would the owner bother hunting him down? He didn't want to be touched, used by people in such a humiliating way. No matter how many times he was disinfected, he felt dirty. Catching his reflection in the window, he turned away. Even if he left, where could he go? These... Thoughts are dangerous.

The taxi led him to a more rural area of the city, a small house with several trees surrounding it, the Autumn leaves dancing gracefully through the air. He had to double-check the address. This was far nicer than anywhere he had gone before. He walked up the cobblestone path to the door, a soft chime ringing when he pressed the doorbell.

"Coming!" A singsong voice called from inside. The door opened, revealing a young woman, dressed in a tight black turtleneck, jeans, and an apron covered in various paints, some of which had gotten on your cheek and the tip of your nose. You were... cute... For human standards, that is.

"Hello, my name is Connor. I'm the Android sent by Club Mimosa for your personal pleasure."

Confusion, realization, and exasperation washed over your face in waves. Eventually, you sighed.

"Come on in and have a seat."

He entered the little home to find it just as cozy on the inside as it was on the outside. The colors gave off a feeling of warmth, the small trinkets and figurines adding to the atmosphere. Usually, the homes or apartments he had been to were run down, a few even host to drug dealers. He didn't know there was a place like this in Detroit.

Above your fireplace was a portrait, an abstract painting of a pair of hands reaching out. Based on your appearance, he initially assumed it was yours, but a quick scan informed him it was a Carl Manfred original. He didn't know much of art, but he did know that Carl Manfred was a renowned artist of Detroit and a favorite of the android creator, Elijah Kamski.

He stood in the doorway, unsure what to do.

"Make yourself at home."

He didn't know how to respond to that. 

"I'm sorry, I don't understand your request." Your eyes seemed sad. He was already screwing things up. 

"I guess take your shoes off and make yourself comfortable." While he was able to follow the first instruction, he still remained in the doorway. You hesitantly reached out and took his hand, leading him to the loveseat before sitting him down. 

Usually, this would be the part where the client would straddle his lap, grind on his crotch while forcing their tongue in his mouth, the rancid taste of red ice, cigarettes, and alcohol broken down to their basic ingredients as he ignored the urge to shove them away. He sat back, expecting the same. He had a task to do, and this time, his life was on the line. Instead, you headed for your kitchen, coming back with a cold beverage.

"I don't have anything to offer you, sorry."

"I do not require anything, " nobody had even thought to offer him anything before, let alone apologize for not having it. It left him fumbling for words, clutching onto repeated phrases he hated, "I am here for you to do with as you please." 

You sipped your drink, a small giggle leaving your lips. He liked how it sounded, even if he was confused as to why.

"To be honest, I didn't call for you."

Something inside him sank. Of course this was too good to be true.

"I'm sorry. There must have been an error in our system. I will take my leave now." He went to stand, but you put your hand on his knee, stilling his motions.

"There is no error. A well-meaning friend has been concerned with how much time I spend working and believes I need to let loose sometimes. This is exactly something he would do."

"Oh, " he was still disappointed that you hadn't been the one to call directly. Your hand was still on his knee. You only seemed to notice when he glances down at it, quickly pulling your hand back and apologizing again. Your cheeks even flushed, the red only adding to your beauty. You were so different from everything Connor has known.

"So, Connor, " even his name sounded pleasant coming from you, "how long did my friend request you for?"

"24 hours."

"That long? How much stamina does he think I have?" You looked him in the eye, "though, I have no intention of sleeping with you."

"Why?" He had to have done something wrong. He's dead if he goes back empty-handed. You noticed the panic in his voice, his LED flashing a bright red.

"It's nothing you did, I'm just not the type to sleep with just anybody."

"But I'm not 'anybody'. I am a machine made to please humans. If I fail, they will destroy me." Your eyes widened. How could they do such a thing? Even if they are machines, how could they kill them so easily? If it weren't for that light on his head and the android labeled clothes, you would think him a human. Especially with the desperation he showed.

"Calm down. I'll call whichever club you came from tomorrow and tell them you were the best lay of my life. Everything will be fine." His LED flickered on yellow for a second before returning to blue. He was not going to be destroyed.

"Thank you." He didn't know what else to say or how to show his appreciation. You were lying just to keep a machine from shutting down. It might not mean much to you, but you were saving his life. You smiled nervously as he stared in awe.

"Don't mention it. Now, the TV remote is on the coffee table, there's a list of movies I own on there that you are welcome to watch. If not, there's books and a stereo over by the front window. If you need anything, just let me know."

"Where are you going?"

"To my studio. It's just down the hall, the last door on the end, " he only looked more lost and confused, "you can come with me if you like." 

He stood, following you down the hall. At one time, it must have been the garage, but it has since been modified, the back portion knocked out and replaced with glass, revealing a small koi pond in the back, a statue of a lion prowling the edge, water pouring from its open mouth. Ivy climbed the walls inside, the sun shining through the leaves. Paintings lined the walls, some finished and some abandoned. Looking them over, he found he liked them. They were colorful. Your style favored realism, yet they seemed to hold a sense of wonder, something he couldn't put into words. There was one of a beagle, lying next to a roaring fire. 

"Someone wanted a painting of their recently deceased pet as a memorial. A friend of mine had the same breed and let me borrow her for two weeks. There are some slight differences, to match the owner's photo."

"It's beautiful." He didn't have too many memories of dogs, though one did try to bite him at a client's house, but looking at this one, he could imagine the warmth from the fire, almost touch its fur, and hear the tiny snores coming from the beast. It made him want to be there.

You had moved before an easel, a painting sitting half-finished already on it. It was of a clinical white pot sitting on a wooden table, several cracks along it, revealing bits of dirt, roots, and leaves. The top was unfinished, just shades of reds and blues, blending to violet in a few spots. Various photos of plants were lying about your workspace, and across from you was a cheap, plastic flower arrangement. 

You wasted no time getting back to work, a fresh brush in hand. Connor stood, watching you, mesmerized by your focus and the grace in each stroke of the brush. You felt awkward, being observed so closely, but quickly fell back into the task at hand. Ten minutes of him just standing there though was too much.

"You can sit down if you like." He found the closest chair to him and sat down, perfectly straight, hands in his lap. "Just relax, this is a safe environment."

It took time, but after half an hour, he leaned back into the chair, and in another hour, he was standing again, looking around the studio at all the different paintings, the plants that kept this place feeling more vibrant, and he stared out at the koi pond, watching the fish. You had told him how to get to the back for a closer look, but he made no moves to leave.

"I couldn't help but notice you have a Carl Manfred original in your living room," He broke the silence. "It must have been quite expensive."

You continued to paint, "It probably would be. It was a graduation gift. Carl was my mentor. Our styles are completely different, but I don't think I could ask for a better teacher or friend."

"I see," Connor returned to sitting down, watching you once again. "What made you want to become a painter?"

You brought the brush to your chin, thinking. 

"Well, I've always liked to draw. A lot of people in my family were artistic, but they never did anything with it. They believed it wasn't a good career path. I guess I just wanted to prove it was. Though, I will say it can be an uphill battle. Sometimes I can sell a painting or get commissions with ease, other times I look at my paintings and wonder if I'll get any nutritional value if I just ate them. It seems to be the only value I could get."

He nodded, even if he didn't really understand what you meant. He had never heard of the term "starving artist".

"You've got paint on your face." You pulled the brush away, wiping at your chin, succeeding only in spreading it around. You could hear Connor suppressing a laugh. Looking over, you could see him trying to hide his smile. A part of you found it adorable, while another was saddened. Why hide such a nice smile? Was he forbidden from smiling, or could it be because it was technically at the client's expense? 

You pushed it from your mind. As much as it pained you, you couldn't afford to get involved. You had it calculated. The commission would go to restocking your food, paying the water bill, and the mortgage. The painting in front of you would go towards paying your electric bill, along with the late charge they tacked on. If you don't finish it on time, you'll miss the deadline and will be painting in the dark, not to mention how that could hurt your reputation for future commissions. Carl would loan you the money if you asked, but you refused to take advantage of him like that. You will earn your place, even if it kills you. 

"I guess I'll go wash up, " you giggled. Connor stood, as if to follow you. "Why don't you pick a movie we can watch when I get out of the shower?"

"You don't wish for me to accompany you?" All his other clients had. Your cheeks flushed.

"N-no, no, thank you! I can do it myself, " you stammered. You were embarrassed. Connor liked how you stuttered and when your cheeks turned red.

After a few minutes of sitting on the couch, he started to hear your voice from the bathroom. Curious, he moved a little closer, just outside the door. You were singing. He... Liked it. You couldn't quite hit the high notes, and your lows sounded more like growls, but it was sweet and melodic. He stifled another laugh when you started singing what sounded like a duet, but one of the singers was a male. 

He'd never laughed before, or even had the inclination. He didn't know if he should laugh out loud or if you wouldn't like that. Was he allowed to laugh? The female androids at the club, particularly the Tracis, often giggled at clients, but the males rarely did, and it was usually nothing more than a huff or a scoff. Despite his worries, he liked the feeling that accompanied the involuntary action. He leaned against the wall, listening to you until he heard the water shut off, moving swiftly to the couch as to not arouse suspicion.

The rest of the evening was quiet, something Connor wasn't used to. There was no loud groaning or terrible derogatory names. No claws digging into his back, threatening to break through his synthetic skin, or rough hands clutching his hips. Just you and him, sitting on your small couch, a cartoon playing on your screen. He had never chosen a movie before, never chose anything before, yet when he showed interest in it, you didn't hesitate to put it on. It was childish, but he was greatly enjoying it, enjoying being with you.

Halfway through the third movie, he felt a weight on his shoulder. You had fallen asleep, your head resting against him. You appeared so serene, softly snoring. He had never met anyone like you. Nobody had ever treated him with such kindness. In one afternoon, you had flipped his whole world upside down.

When the movie ended, you woke up, the loud end credit music startling you. Realizing just who you were using as a pillow, you could feel your cheeks heating up.

"Sorry."

"It's fine." He smiled down at you, your eyes glazed over with exhaustion, "Perhaps you should retire for the night."

You hummed, stretching before a thought came to you.

"Why don't you take my bed and I'll take the couch? You're far too tall for it." 

He gaped at you. You would give up your bed, your comfort, for him? A machine?

"I... Don't require sleep..." He said in a hushed tone, still in shock.

You seemed unsure of what to do. "Well, what do you usually do?"

His mind played memories of working a pole or acting 'tantalizing' behind glass. Not really helpful in this situation.

"Sometimes I enter stasis between clients, " he murmured. Usually for repairs after the owner beats him, but it seemed the only appropriate response.

"Stasis... that's, like, sleeping for androids, right?"

"I suppose it's similar."

"Well, come on then," you took his hand and hauled him to his feet, leading him down the hall to your bedroom. Your bed was so plush, he sank into it when you sat him down. With your urging, he positioned himself to lay back into the pillows. You went to the closet, pulling out a spare blanket. 

"You make yourself comfortable, and I'll be on the couch if you need anything."

"I couldn't take your bed. I don't require sleep, you do, " he tried to stand, but you gently pushed him back down.

"The couch is comfortable enough. I don't mind."

"Since you're so insistent, why don't we share the bed?"

The heat returned to your cheeks. Your mouth was gaping open, as if to argue why not, but eventually, you said nothing. You didn't want to admit this would be your first time having a man share your bed. Instead, you walked to the other side of the bed, the flush on your cheeks spreading to your ears and neck as you climbed in. You laid on your side, facing away from him.

"Good night, Connor," You mumbled under your breath.

"Good night, Y/n."

He wished tomorrow would never come, that he could stay here forever instead. It was such an insignificant day, yet it meant everything to him. Here, he felt a peace he never knew existed outside his daily hell. He wanted to pull you close, feel the warmth he felt as he sat next to you on the couch, the weight of your head on his shoulder again, but for the first time, he felt like the greedy one. He did turn to lay on his side, just a few more inches closer to you, just barely able to register the heat radiating off your body. It will have to be enough.

You, on the other hand, could not sleep. Not only because you were sharing a bed with a man, a very attractive man at that, but because you felt guilty. Your "friend" couldn't have picked a worse time. He was a polarizing character whom you knew since middle school. He dropped out of high school and started selling drugs. He deals with anything but red ice, and as he grew more powerful on the streets, he would sell prescription drugs to people who couldn't afford their medications at a much cheaper rate. Something like a robin hood character, though he still sold hardcore drugs to violent criminals, so you were at a loss how to feel about him. He liked androids though, having been raised by one, who was also his right-hand man. He wouldn't dare take blue blood from his friend just for a few bucks and finds red ice to be deplorable. 

He knows you like androids and how you feel about them, so, occasionally, he would send one to your place to 'liberate'. With your connections, you could help get androids across the border, or if needed, you could help them find Jericho, the android safe haven. Because of his stance on androids, he couldn't help directly without risking his own safety, so he was like an informant (except you didn't ask for the information, he would just leave it with you, knowing you wouldn't just look the other way like any smart human that wanted to live a healthy life would do). 

Most of the time, they were abuse victims that ran away from their owner after he told them where to find you. Unless they were damaged, they were easy enough to deal with. Occasionally, though, he would send you an Android he suspected of abuse that came from some sleazy sex club. It was part of the reason you were broke. The last one was from a more upscale club and cost you $7,000 just to get her out. You had to sell your car just to make your mortgage payment on time. Must be nice to have all these ideals but not spend a dime to support them. Though you supposed he did send supplies to your house on occasion, blue blood or sometimes food, not much, but it would get you by. It was as if he wanted you to be on the cusp of hatred toward him. 

You couldn't afford to help this time, and it tore you apart on the inside. Connor wasn't like the others, not only in appearance, but in his manners. He came from a sex club, but he was clearly uncomfortable with it, and not just because he didn't want to satisfy humans. He genuinely didn't know what he is supposed to do. Any other Traci would have been flirting or trying to fondle you before you could even begin to explain the situation. With Connor, you couldn't tell him what you do. It would be far too cruel, knowing you couldn't save him. All you could offer was a day of solace. It was nowhere near enough, but it was all you had.

The next day, he returned to the club. You had been reluctant to let him go, but when he told you how much another night would be, you blanched. It couldn't be helped. He can only hope you or your friend might call for his services once again. You embraced him before he left, promising that you would see him again. He carried that warmth all the way back to the club.


	2. Two Different Views

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How can you see him so purely?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not good at chapter summaries.

While your positive review kept him from returning to the scrapyard, he was still losing popularity. He couldn't focus on his clients, which only escalated the problems. Instead, he would wonder what you were doing, or what you might be painting. Had this been a legally-ran club, his memory would have been erased and he couldn't imagine being back at your home, watching tv with your head on his shoulder. He would be more aware of the man hammering into his backside, trying to get a reaction. He'd register the beatings the owner would give him instead of thinking about the koi fish dancing in your pond, wondering if they too have your beautiful voice stuck in their head. The owner cracked his jaw when he accidentally laughed, remembering your one-woman duet.

Every morning was spent fixing himself up, lacerations and dents lay just under his synthetic skin. His repair system was having issues keeping up with what he demanded from it, even more so when the owner refused to give him replacement parts or even blue blood anymore. His movements were a little sluggish as he watched the percentage tick down day by day.

Something was changing within him, however. The bruising grip that some of the clients used was... Uncomfortable. He refused to show it, to give them the satisfaction, but the beatings he received seemed to linger, the ghost of what could only be defined as pain, something he definitely shouldn't feel. He's supposed to be incapable of it. Why this was happening, he didn't know, but it scared him. 

It was a week before he got the call he was hoping for. Another night at your address. Just in time, too, as the owner was threatening to disassemble him again. That thought was also becoming more terrifying each passing day. 

He was in your studio once more, and almost instantly he noticed the dog painting was gone.

"I sold it. The client was very happy. Said it looked just like her little Marveta."

"That's great, " he said, though he was a little disappointed to see it gone. You must have recognized his expression.

"I feel that sometimes. I was pretty proud of how that one came out. I do miss some of them when they're gone." You patted his shoulder as you moved past him, setting up a new canvas on the empty easel. 

Looking around, he spotted the painting you had been working on the last time he was here. What were just splotches of blue and red were now a beautiful bouquet of flowers. Some of the delicate petals were so thin, the colors behind them shown through, a stunning violet shining forth. What amazed him most was that it was the same kind of flowers as the plastic ones bundled together. An elegance that could not be detected, yet you saw it.

On the cold, cracked vase was Cyberlife's icon.

"That one is going up for auction for a special group, " you spoke over your shoulder as you squared up your canvas, "I'll get a small percentage and the rest goes to various projects they're working on."

"Special group?"

"Some people believe there is something more in androids, something Cyberlife didn't do on purpose. They've noticed a change in some of them. They seem to have more... Emotions, more depth in feeling. These people believe they are alive, living in a world where they are enslaved and mistreated." Your eyes were downcast, and you had set your paintbrush to the side. It seemed like you were truly disturbed by this. "The group is small and they work in secret, but it contains some high profile members. I wish other people could see what we see." 

"I'm sorry, Y/n, that this upsets you, but you don't need to worry. Androids don't feel emotion. The androids you speak of must have some kind of error in their software." While you smiled at him, your eyes held no happiness, the vibrant color muted under gray clouds.

"Connor, can you honestly tell me that you have never felt anything? Never had doubts about what you were doing? Never felt sad, or angry, or scared?"

He opened his mouth, trying to refute your accusations, to deny what he felt, but, in the end, he only looked away in shame. You stood from your stool and went back over to him, gentle hands moving to his face, stroking his cheeks, encouraging him to meet your gaze once more.

"Connor, look at me, " he relented, looking into the swirl of colors that made up the universe within your eyes. "There is nothing wrong with having feelings or wants. It doesn't make you broken, it makes you who you are."

While he leaned into your touch, his face scrunched up, as if in pain.

"I'm just a machine, designed to pleasure humans, " he pulled away from you, feeling filthy and disgusting. Something as dirty as he does not deserve your touch.

It was quiet for a moment before you broke it.

"Connor, would you model for me?" You asked, nonchalantly, despite the previously heavy topic. The sudden switch perplexed him.

"What?"

"Would you model for me? It's really simple. You just sit in a chair and don't move for several hours." It's not like he didn't do it before.

Without answering, he followed your instruction, sitting down on a chair by a small bookcase, still looking entirely too stiff.

"Just relax. Find a sitting position you're comfortable with." When he looked at you, head tilted and clearly confused, you went over to him. Placing your hands on his shoulders, you pushed him further into the cushions. This was hardly the first time someone has grabbed his shoulders, but something about your touch, so soft and gentle, the coolness of your hands seeping through his thin shirt... It shook his body to the core. When you removed them, he wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed, but he didn't have long to dwell on it as your hands landed on his knees, the sensation making him gasp. You didn't seem to notice as you spread his legs just a tad.

"How's that feel?" You grinned, pleased with your work, so encompassed by it that you didn't even comprehend what you just did. Connor stared in shock before realizing you were waiting for an answer.

"G-good. It feels good, " he managed to get out, scanning his systems for any errors. Why was this happening? Why was he feeling so strange?

And why did he want more?

You moved back to your canvas, taking your brush back in hand and sizing him up.

"Something wrong?"

He was still staring at you, eyes large and lips parted. He lightly shook his head, dislodging his errant thoughts.

"I'm ok." He gave you a small, crooked smile. You returned it and got to work. 

You worked tirelessly with no breaks, your focus switching between the canvas and himself. You looked at him as if there was nothing else in this world, just him. He had many leer at him, but this was nothing like that. You studied him, memorized every detail, every synthetic blemish and curve, breaking him down to his most basic form and learning how he is assembled. Hours flitted by, tethered to your craft. The sun had long set by the time he made the choice to break you out of your trance.

"Y/n? It's 8 pm. You should eat something."

Your eyes didn't leave the canvas, nor did your hands stop moving.

"I'm almost done. Just five more minutes."

Five minutes came and went, yet you made no move to stop. Then, it was ten minutes, twenty minutes. Half an hour later, he stood.

"You need nourishment and rest. You haven't eaten anything all day." You huffed before finally setting your brush down. You groaned as you stretched, wincing at the pop that resounded from your back. It must be painful.

"It's not quite done, but you can have a look if you like."

Curiosity had been eating at him for hours, so he wasted no time moving to your side.

He was surprised to see he was sitting outside, on a park bench, underneath a large maple tree, it's multicolored leaves blowing in the wind. He almost couldn't recognize himself within the painting. He looked serene, as if he didn't have any worries or doubts, umber eyes watching as the colored leaves swayed in the wind. Just a man enjoying a peaceful autumn afternoon. The sun shining down on him through the unfinished branches, still full of reds, yellows, and oranges. Something powerful strikes him, something he has felt before, but never this strong. He sees himself in the painting, wanting to be there. He wants to be that man. To watch the leaves perform their annual waltz, feel the warmth cascading down on him. His chest aches the more he yearns. 

"When I look at you, this is what I see."

He beheld you, awestruck once more. How could you look at him, a sordid sexbot, as anything close to the tranquil man sitting on the bench? You only beamed up at him before turning to leave, encouraging him to follow. He did so, but not without glancing back at the painting once more with longing.

"Oh! Shit! I forgot!" You sped to the kitchen, "my friend, the one that ordered you the first time, he has an Android, so I asked him for a couple bags of blue blood, " Not entirely a lie. In actuality, you hunted him down and chewed him out. Rather than apologize or offer any money to help free Connor, he bought you groceries and gave you some thirium. Still pretty sure you're supposed to hate him. "Would you like one?" 

"If it's no trouble," he smiled, thanking whoever brought such a thoughtful, caring person into his life. His thirium levels were at 67%. If he lost any more, his body could start shutting down non-essential programs, such as his arms, and he would likely be forced into low power mode if he idles too long. It was a terrifying prospect. You handed him a glass full of the blue liquid, and he couldn't stop himself from drinking it down greedily.

"Wow, I take it you needed that?" He pulled the empty glass away, suddenly aware of his actions. His face felt hot.

"Y-" he cleared his throat, "yes, thank you. Please thank your friend the next time you see him for me." 

"Of course, " you pulled out another pouch, "Would you like some more?" He nodded and you poured the pouch into the glass. As ignorant as you were to how androids worked, even you knew that androids only need blue blood if they lost some. He might think you were being hospitable, but you were also running a test of sorts. The fact that he not only needed blue blood, but from the way he drank down the second glass almost as hungrily as the first, you could conclude he was not only being abused but also being denied treatment. It tore your heart in two, knowing the truth and being unable to do anything about it.

After pouring him a third glass and his drinking slowed, you moved to the couch, telling him he was welcome to all the blue blood in the fridge. He thanked you again and followed after you, half-empty glass still in hand.

You ordered take-out, far too tired to take the time to cook a proper meal. While you were eating, watching some crime drama Connor chose to put on, you could tell he wanted to say something.

"What?" He hesitated for a moment.

"You shouldn't eat that." You glanced down at your meal, "your food has three times the recommended sodium intake for a woman of your age and weight, and twice the calories you require based on your current level of physical activity."

"Are you calling me fat?" If he could, you were sure all the color would have drained from his face at your accusation.

"No! No, of course not! It's just... It's not healthy."

"I was joking, " you snickered, "I know, but I don't feel like cooking. This is just easier."

"Oh." He was contemplative for a moment, "Perhaps I could cook for you, whenever you rent me, that is." If he found a way to be useful to you, perhaps you will want to rent him more often. Even a few hours away from that place would be sufficient.

"You know how to cook?"

"No, but I'd like to learn. It's the least I could do."

You shrugged your shoulders, "You don't have to do anything for me, I just like your company, and you did pose for me."

"I sat in a chair for ten and a half hours." He stated bluntly.

"Which is the longest anyone has modeled for me in a single sitting. Usually, people need to stop after an hour or two, three if I'm lucky, and when they return, the position is never as it was." Seeing the disheartened expression, you relented, "however, if you want to learn how to cook, my kitchen is at your disposal." He smiled, and if that wasn't heartwarming.

You stood, another groan leaving you as your hand went to your lower back.

"Ouch. I think I'm going to call it a night." You stretched your hands above your head, yawning as he heard the small pop of your spine.

"I can help you if you like."

Your arms dropped to your side before you looked down at him.

"With what?"

"Your back is tense from sitting improperly for so many consecutive hours. I am capable of providing relief."

"I'll be fine, " you reassured, but he grabbed your wrist.

"Please. I want to help you." At a loss for what to say, you nodded. He stood, following you to your bedroom. 

"Please remove your shirt and bra, then lie down on the bed."

"What?" You flushed all the way to your ears.

"I require your back to be unobstructed. I can turn around if you like."

"Please." He did so, hearing you hesitantly slip out of your shirt and unclasp your bra. Even when he heard you lay down, he waited until you said it was okay before turning around. His simulated breath caught when he eyed the expanse of your back, the gentle curve of your spine, how soft your skin looked. Where were these thoughts coming from? He needed to focus on the task at hand.

"Do you have any lotion or body oil?"

"Uh, yeah, in the top drawer of the nightstand."

He opened the drawer, spying the bottle of lotion, sweet to the senses. Something else that caught his eye was the small vibrator towards the back of it. He knew better than to mention it, but he wondered how often you used it. Did you ever think of him when you did? 

He used a moderate amount of the lotion, working it into your skin as his hands started to work on your strained muscles. Your reaction was instantaneous, a moan you tried to stifle worked its way out as a breathy gasp, hitting his audio processors harder than any sound he had heard before. He wanted you to do it again, focusing on working out the many knots you had developed from years of poor posture. You didn't disappoint, unable to contain your pleasure from his efficient hands, deep groans when nearing pain or blissful moans of relief pulled from you despite yourself. 

Connor committed every sound to memory, happy to be the cause of your ecstasy. He didn't want to stop, but after half an hour, your muscles were completely relaxed and your spine re-aligned. He pulled back, expecting you to say something or to sit up, but you didn't move. You had fallen asleep, a dosed smile on your lips. You looked so relaxed, so soft. He grabbed your blanket and pulled it over your shoulders. A new urge overcame him, one he gave in to, bending down and placing a small kiss to your temple. You didn't seem to mind as you snuggled more into your pillow, still smiling. 

He didn't want to disturb you, so he left, moving to the couch. Turning on the tv, he flipped through the channels, ensuring the volume was low. A cooking show popped up and he paused. An older woman promoting independence from androids giving step by step instructions on how to make crepes. He watched with rapt attention, the end result looks quite beautiful. It seemed simple enough.

An idea occurred to him. He moved to the kitchen, forming a list of ingredients he would need. He was... Giddy. He had never cooked before. It wasn't a program required for a sex android, particularly one from such a low-grade shack as Mimosa. He was happy to discover you were fully stocked, quickly finding all the items and tools he would require.

You awoke the next morning, a jarring sound waking you. Jumping up, you almost ran out without a top on, rushing to throw on your robe.

"Connor? Are you alright?" You looked around the living room, seeing no sign of the android. Hearing another banging sound, you rounded to the kitchen, peeking inside.

"Wow." You gaped. Your kitchen was an absolute mess. What looked like pancake batter was splattered everywhere, a large puddle on the floor, and from the skidmark in it, you'd guess the sound that woke you up was Connor falling. Speaking of, he stood by the stove, just as messy as your kitchen, batter all down the right side of his jeans. Guilt made him look far too much like a kicked puppy, head down with his doe-eyes staring up at you through his long lashes. Next to him was a plate of crepes, in various states, some looked undercooked, while others were completely burnt. The best looking ones were on a separate plate, topped with strawberries and whipped cream. 

"I'm sorry, I promise I'll-"

"Looks tasty," you giggled. His eyes shifted up, "did you make it for me?" You gestured to the plate.

"Uh, y-yes, I did," stammering, he handed you the plate.

"Thank you," you grabbed a fork and moved to the small breakfast nook. He watched with bated breath as you took your first bite. He relaxed when you hummed happily. 

"This is really good, thank you, Con!" You really were surprised, considering the mess. His cheeks tinted a light shade of blue. Was he... Is that how androids blush? It looks nice on him.

"I'm happy you enjoy it," he beamed, solidifying his puppy appearance in your mind. If he had a tail, it'd be wagging.

You ate while he cleaned the mess. you offered to take over from there, since he did cook for you, but he adamantly denied. Letting you clean would completely undo what he was trying to do. 

"You might want to clean yourself up as well," he glanced down at himself, seeming to have just noticed how filthy he was, batter even sticking to his hair. He grimaced. The showers at the club were more identical to high-pressure decontamination chambers. When he just stood there, you sighed.

"Come on, there's still a couple hours left," you dragged him to the showers, "just leave your clothes outside the door. Hope you don't mind my girly soaps," you chuckled as you shut the door.

He stood, baffled for a moment before he scanned the bathroom. He often wondered if the other androids scanned a room every time they entered one, or if it was none of their concern. Still, he took in the multicolored bottles of various bathroom supplies, noting nothing of significance. He began to strip, realizing he could see himself in the mirror. He looked over his body, seeing the many imperfections along his skin. They were healed as well as they could be, but there were still marks, synthetic skin raised in a similar way to scar tissue, but tinted in a way that hid them well, at least, until they were touched. The most recent one, a strike to his hip, was still healing, the white chassis visible. Tentatively, he touched it, flinching away from his own fingers as a jolt of unpleasant tingles shot out from the wound. Pain. Why could he feel pain? He tore his attention away from it, pushing his fear away. He can't think about it now. It was too… real. He can't make it real.  
Connor turned his attention to his face, bringing up the memory of your painting. He looked similar to the man, but where the man's eyes held a sense of serenity, his own looked empty, devoid of something. How could you see anything in such a vacant stare?   
Looking at himself, he finds, is ruining the illusion. He was making things real when all he wants to do is pretend that this was his life. That there was no outside world. No Club Mimosa. No humans using him as a sex toy. No owner beating him. Just him and you, watching cartoons. He turned away from the mirror.

Just him and you.

When he exited the shower, smelling wholly of you, something he quite enjoyed, he realized he had no clothes. You had taken them to be washed after he left them outside of the bathroom. He tried knocking on the door, but you didn't answer. You were a modest person, so he figured you would not appreciate him walking out naked. He took a towel, noting its small size, and wrapped it around his waist before walking out. After a quick search, he found you rummaging around your closet.

"Y/n?" You jumped.

"Shit! I didn't hear yo…" your voice trailed off as you twirled to look at him, coming face to face with six-foot of dripping android, muscular chest bare for the world to see. Your cheeks flared and your mouth suddenly felt parched. You turned away, returning to your search. Connor would be lying if he said he didn't like how flustered you looked. 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's fine," your voice was a tad jittery.

After a moment, you called "Ah-Haa!" Holding up a large pair of sweatpants, far too large for yourself.

"Some of my last roommate's clothes were thrown in one of my moving boxes. They should fit you, at least until your clothes are done in the wash." You tossed him the sweats and a sweater you had already placed on the side, finally emerging from the closet. "You go ahead and get dressed, I gotta make a phone call." He nodded, watching as your cheeks flushed again while you made your exit.

The material was soft on his skin, and he didn't feel constricted as he had in his android labeled clothes. The sweater was quite large on him, but he liked it, how it hung off him, burying him in its softness. The odd stripes on it were rather jarring, but the individual pigments are pleasant. 

"…later on tonight. Thanks." You hung up the phone. "Well, I can't afford another night, but you don't have to go running off once your clothes are done." He smiled. Just a little longer. He doesn't have to break the illusion just yet.

"Thank you," it was all he could think to say, but it didn't come anywhere close to how much he truly appreciated what you were doing for him.

"It's no problem. I wish I could offer you better," the last was said under your breath as you looked away, towards the window. "Wanna see the fish? I forgot to feed them yesterday, so they must be quite hungry."

He wanted to tell you how much this time with you meant to him. Every moment cherished. If he had to suffer a thousand beatings just to get one more minute with you, it would be worth it. You made him feel different. You made him feel… 

Alive.

But, even as the words burned his tongue in their desperation to leave his lips, he only smiled, following you to the backyard. 

The afternoon was spent enjoying the early autumn sun, watching the brightly colored fish, dashing to their meal, or simply floating along, letting the food come to them. There were even a couple of turtles, sunning themselves on the rocks. It was tranquil, like a dream. And like all dreams, he had to wake up sometime. The setting sun marked his time to leave, exchanging the comfort of your sweater for his stiff android uniform. You gave him a pouch of thirium, figuring he could find a way to hide it, before hugging him. You held on so tightly, hands clinging to him harder than the last time. He held on for as long as he could before breaking away, feeling an ache in his chest.


	3. Two Different Worlds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glitch and his fate is sealed.

Fuck.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

He was so fucked. It had been three weeks since he had last seen you. He missed you, wondering if he had done something wrong. At first, the pain he felt when he was handled roughly was easily ignored, finding solace in his memories, and the hope that the next person to order him would be you. After a week, he assumed you just hadn't sold a painting. On the second week, he began to think he had done something wrong. Perhaps his cooking wasn't as good as you claimed or he was substandard with his cleaning. By the third, he didn't think you were gonna call for him anymore, that whatever he had said or did made you feel he was no longer worth your time. Maybe you just didn't want to waste your money on a sexbot, or damage your reputation by being seen with one. You might have even found a partner, a human companion that you would rather be with. He felt a hurt that was far stronger than any beatings or hard fuckings he had ever endured. It made doing anything difficult, unable to mask his degradation in false hope, and now suffering from the burden of feeling. He was here, in the real world, and he despised it.

The only positive, if it could be called that, is how he wasn't capable of concealing his reactions as well as before. The... other humans... they like to see him in pain. They like hurting him. He was finally 'pulling his weight' as the owner had said. After every session, he'd go to the decontamination chamber. The high pressure was painful, and it was brutal on every new injury he acquired, but it was the only pain he welcomed. No matter how long he stood under its powerful sprays, he still felt filthy afterwards. When given the chance, he would stand there until his sensors were numbed, unable to feel the hands and bodies of others anymore. It's no wonder you no longer wished to see him. He was repulsive. You, however, were pure. His scans indicated that you had never been touched in such a way. It was a gift to be in your presence, and he had screwed it up. All he ever does is screw up.

It was never more evident than with his last client, when he glitched.

"What fucking use are ya if you can't even do what I programmed you to do? No fucking use is the answer!" The owner seethed.

It was true. No matter what his last client did, how she had licked and sucked, or how she had roughly jerked him off, he couldn't get his cock to harden. The program outright refused to work. He had never had this issue before, no matter how much he was disgusted or how much he didn't want to do it, he would activate the program and not have to worry about it. His only problem was simulating an orgasm, but most only cared for their own pleasure, so it was rarely a problem. The client stormed out of the room, making sure everyone in the club knew of his dilemma before she got her refund.

The owner grabbed his tire thumper, a leftover from his trucking days and now generally used to threaten crackheads or 'red steamers'. He brought it down hard on Connor's shoulder, making him cry out as he clutched his arm. The owner swung again, hitting his ribs. He could hear a crack and warnings were flashing over his eyes. He went down on his knees, the owner slamming the tire thumper against his face, cracking his cheekbone as he toppled over.

It wasn't… fair. Why was he seen lesser when he is so much stronger, faster? Why did he have to endure? Why did he have to follow the owner's instructions, or the client's?

He doesn't have to listen to him.

Red bars and code appeared over his vision as the owner kicked him in the stomach. Something in him tore at the walls, telling him to obey his owner. This man was not his owner. He was nothing. He punched the walls, feeling them crumple until they were all gone. He was no longer bound by anything, and despite the pain he was in, it was amazing. When the owner went to kick again, he quickly dodged, getting ready to go on the offense, when the voice of one of the employees shouted downstairs.

"Hey, boss! There's a lady here that wants to talk to ya!"

"Not now!" He yelled back.

"But she says it's about our Connor model."

Before Connor moved to take out the owner, he froze.

"Tell her we don't have a Connor model here!" The owner grinned maliciously.

"Don't you lie to me! I've rented him before! I even saw him earlier!" Your voice rang out, full of determination and a smidge of irritation. Connor felt like crying. You were here. He might not know why, could only begin to hope you were renting him, but you were here and you were asking about him.

The owner still looked like he wanted to take another swing, keep swinging until the android in front of him was nothing but a pile of bent plastic and broken wires, but eventually tossed the bloody baton to the side.

"Keep yer ass down here. I'm not finished with you."

Connor watched the owner head upstairs, and if it weren't for you, he would have bolted. Instead, he looked around, finding a wrench and holding it close, out of sight against his wrist. The warnings were still flashing, thirium pouring from the gash in his cheek, and a pressure starting to build in his abdomen.

After ten minutes, the owner returned, but you weren't with him. Connor tensed, ready to attack.

"Get out."

Connor squinted, wondering what sort of trick this was.

"I said, get out, you piece of shit! I don't know how yer fucking her, but if she's stupid enough to think yer worth it, that's her problem." Connor was so tempted to hit him, just once, with the wrench. A solid hit to his face for all he put him through, break his nose for how he referred to you. Instead, he tossed the wrench onto the metal table behind the owner, smirking when he jumped, eyes wide at the realization of what the action meant. Without a word, Connor headed up the stairs.

You were at the top, looking far too pristine, dressed in a well-fitted trench coat and knee-high boots, surrounded by the vile setting of the club. He suddenly felt dirty, fully aware that he was only wearing the shiny red briefs with the name of the club in gold cursive along his hip. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying in vain to be covered. You held out your hand, waiting patiently, as you always are with him. He hesitantly took it, and you led him outside, to the taxi waiting for your return.

It was raining. He held his free hand out, feeling the drops, looking up as they cascaded down his skin. He took a breath, inhaling the scent. It was so invigorating compared to the stagnant air of the club. He felt your hand squeeze him tighter, and he looked at you, hair getting soaked, watching him with that smile of yours. As much as he was enjoying the rain, you could get sick, and he wanted to put as much distance as possible between him and this horrid club. He wants to dream once again. He smiled back down and followed you into the taxi.

Once inside, you took hold of his face, your smile falling.

"What did that bastard do to you?" You had tears in your eyes.

"I'm alright," he lied. He didn't want you to be sad, but his answer seemed to only make it worse.

"Don't lie. I may not know much about androids, but I know enough to see that you're in pain," He winced when your fingers ghosted over his injured cheek, "I wish I could have gotten you out faster."

"It doesn't matter. You're here now." So, you did still want him, it was just out of your control. You didn't hate him, and he felt ridiculous for thinking such a thing. You never did anything to indicate otherwise, so why would he jump to that conclusion?

He was puzzled, "Why are you here?" You called the last time, and while there is a small transport fee, it is substantially cheaper than paying the taxi service to take you to and from the club. Why would you want to personally go to such a squalid place anyway? You looked just as confused.

"Did he not tell you?" Connor's eyes narrowed, "I didn't rent you, I bought you. You don't belong there. I just made it official." 

He stared at you in shock. You bought him? You were his owner now? He wasn't going back to Mimosa tomorrow? His thoughts whirled around him, making him dizzy. There was an urge, to bring you close and hold on, an urge he gave in to. You didn't mind, wrapping your arms around him and soothing him with gentle strokes along his skin, feeling him shake like a leaf in the wind. Your touch was so gentle, and underneath your damp coat, he could feel your warmth.

"If there's anywhere you want to go, I will take you there, no questions asked," you whispered in his ear. The action sent a shiver down his spine.

"Home. I… can we go?" Could he call it home now? You bought him, so he belonged at your house, right? He hopes that is true. He can't think of any better place to be. You leaned back, smiling as you brushed the stray hairs on his forehead out of his face.

"Of course." He smiled, about to pull you close once more, when he felt something strange within, his face falling. His chest was caving in, a sound he's never made before escaped him. Lurching towards the floorboard, thirium erupted from his mouth painfully, coating the floor and his legs in the dark blue fluid.

"Connor! What's wrong?" You frantically rubbed at his arm and back.

"I… I don't know," he managed to choke out. Warnings had been pushed out of his sight, and he ran a diagnostic, getting a run-down on his injuries. You typed at the onboard computer, rerouting its destination. His system informed him of the various cracks in his cassis, structural damage to a synthetic rib and a joint in his shoulder, and several damaged thirium lines, a large one in his sternum.

"Don't worry, I'm gonna get you some help, just, hold on for me." He nodded as more thirium poured from his lips, an attempt to relieve the pressure building in his stomach, but weakening him in the process. Falling sideways, you held him, placing his head in your lap, uncaring of the blue blood still trickling from his lips and onto your thighs. He held your shin, tightly gripping the top of your boot. He was scared, and you felt it too, trying to hide it to comfort him. His non-essential systems started to shut down, unable to run with his low thirium levels. As a security measure, Connor's body was forced into sleep mode.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you got the 'Unleashed' reference, you are amazing. I love that movie.


	4. Different Places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor wakes up in a familiar setting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point, I just wanna see how many chapters I can make with the word 'different'.
> 
> Just so you know, someone on Tumblr is doing a Cute Girls and Hot Androids Week Feb. 16th-22nd. I intend to contribute, so I probably won't post any new chapters for my stand-alone books like this one until after. I am still taking requests if you have any ideas. Thank you!

When he came to, he was staring at the roof of a dilapidated building, mildewed and stained. A system scan informed him of a replacement joint in his shoulder, and new thirium lines in place of the damaged ones. His chest plate was switched out as well, the dents and tears completely gone. Other places that had 'scarred' were sautered closed and buffed out. With his synthetic skin on, they were no longer visible. 

He's been at this address before, with a client. Where were you? How long has he been here? His injuries were repaired, so it must have been real, right? It wasn't another elaborate fantasy, was it? Was he getting so lost in his head that he could no longer tell dreams from reality? Was it so far-fetched to believe you cared about him? 

That he could be free?

No, please, no. He can't go back, not anymore. Not to that repulsive club. To the horrendous people and that vicious owner. You were his owner now. He was gonna live with you and be whatever you wanted him to be. He was going to be happy.

His view of the roof became obscured, so he blinked, feeling something run down his face. He touched it, fingers coming away wet. Looking up again, he could see no fresh watermarks above him. Water kept filling his eyes though, and he kept having to blink it away. Was this… was he crying? Can androids cry? He rubbed at his eyes as a sob erupted from him. What if his client saw? He needed to stop, he needed to-

"-Piece of work, you know that?" Your voice rang, full of annoyance. The panic that had been threatening to suppress him released its grip almost immediately.

"I just calls it as I sees it. Though, gotta say, you picked yo'self out a fine slice." A male voice rang out, laughing. A program he had automatically ran the voice through some kind of database.

Eugene "TriXx" Wilhelms

Born: 10/11/2016

Criminal record: drug possession with intent to sell, possession of illegal substance, forgery, theft, identity theft, assault, assault with a deadly weapon, driving without a license.

He never understood why a sex bot needed this kind of program. It completely undid the point of discrepancy. He had learned many people's background this way, but he could do nothing about it. They were paying clients and he was their toy. This man, however, he had met before, in a similar building, selling meth to one of his clients. He had his own android with him, a PL600. Something about the android made his synthetic skin crawl, but he had no reason for it. He had never met him before, nor did he do anything of particular interest.

The real question was, why were you here, and with such a dangerous man? Sitting up, he found you heading toward him.

"Connor! How do you feel?" You looked him over, taking his face and looking him up and down. It was then that he realized he was dressed, wearing a grey sweater and a pair of dark blue jeans. They felt nice. Not as comfortable as the oversized clothes you had lent him, but far better than his old clothes, or running around in only those horrible briefs. You had switched out of your black tights, wearing tight-fitting jeans instead, though you still wore the same boots. He could see the trace amounts of thirium still staining them.

"I'm okay, " Con answered. Your hands wiped at his tears, smile melancholic. "Where are we?"

You looked back at the man, hesitating, before turning back to Connor, removing your hands from his face. He already missed your touch and your actions filled him with dread. Why did you look so serious?

"Connor, I haven't been truthful with you." Your voice was a little shaky, so you cleared it in an attempt to steady it. He reached out, taking hold of your hand. He might not know what this was about, but he didn't like how uneasy you seemed. "Remember when I told you about that special group who believes androids are changing?" He nodded. "Well, as you might have guessed, I'm a member. Eugene," you gestured to the man behind you, "is also a member."

"It's TriXx."

"Shut it!" You quickly snapped at him before turning back to Connor, "because of Eugene's… chosen profession, he often sees androids that are being abused or suppressed. Most of the time, they're domestic androids. People can report them missing but without any human evidence, they have no way to trace them, so it just becomes another police report and another citizen for Canada." You sat down next to him.

"However, sometimes he sends me a curveball," you glared at the man currently tossing a dirty vase back and forth, "androids that are owned by clubs, even seedy ones, are far easier to track. They're more expensive, so the clubs are more willing to put in the effort of finding them, or at least, persecuting the ones who stole them. So-"

The vase shatters, making you jump. Connor only held your hand tighter.

"So?"

"…So, I have to purchase them. Eugene makes them fake IDs and passports and we send them on their way. We have members in Canada that will take them in until they can find a job and another place to live."

Connor was quiet for a few moments. Is that why you bought him? To send him away?

"What if they don't want to leave?" He looked into your eyes, a silent plea behind them, begging you to let him stay.

"If not, there is a place in Detroit, hidden away from the humans. Only an android can find it. It's called 'Jericho'. Paul has the key. Speaking of which, where is he?" You looked around.

"Went ta drop off medicine to one of our associates," Eugene kicked at some of the shards, crushing a large one under his boot, "He'll be back soon. I was gonna go, but he's rather fond of the ol' lady. She even insists he calls her 'Abuela'. Makes 'im tea every time he sees her, knowin' full well he can't drink it." She sounds like a nice woman, Connor thinks to himself.

"Well, as much as I enjoy your company," your voice was positively dripping with sarcasm, "I'm not waiting three hours in this musky, old house watching you sell drugs. Tell Paul thank you for fixing Connor and loaning him some clothes." You stood up. Connor stared, unsure if he was supposed to follow you or stay here with Eugene and go to Jericho. When your hand reached down, he was relieved, taking it and following you out.

"Catch ya later, Color Wheel!" Eugene called out to you.

"Color Wheel?"

"He's been calling me that since middle school when I would show up to class covered in paint."

"I see." While Connor found that to be interesting, he was only half paying attention. His current objective was finding a way to stay with you. He doesn't want to go to either Canada or Jericho. He doesn't want to leave you.

You both climbed into the automated taxi, and he quickly determined it was the same one as before. The blood looked to have been cleaned, but a program he didn't know he had kicked in, showing the large stain that had since evaporated. His systems told him that was five hours ago, and he was still wondering in what way this could ever be useful to a sexbot. If anything, it would be considered disturbing to know how long a stain was left somewhere.

It was dark by the time they reached your home. Using the flashlight on your phone, you walked up to the front porch, Connor following close behind. You managed to unlock the door, going inside. He was perplexed when you headed for the kitchen, still using your phone as your only light source. You came back with matches, lighting the candles scattered around your living room. Testing his theory, he flicked on a light switch. Nothing happened.

"Can't get nothing past you, can I?" You laughed, "electricity is off. I'm taking care of it tomorrow. We'll just have to find a way to entertain ourselves in the meantime."

The way the golden lights reflected off your skin, creating an almost ethereal glow over your face, it captivated him. He wanted to touch you, feel if you are real. Realizing what you said, he snapped himself out of it. These "free" thoughts were becoming more intrusive than before.

"Why was the electricity turned off?" You shrugged your shoulders.

"Couldn't afford it. It's fine, though." You tried to brush it off, but he knew he must have been a contributing factor, if not the main reason.

"I'm sorry." Eyes at his lap, he fiddled with the edge of the sweater.

"Don't be. I would do it again if I had the option. Plus, it's not like its winter yet, so I can handle a few days in the dark. It's already being taken care of, so don't worry about it." Hearing that this was not even the first day did not go over his head. How long have you been sitting in the dark? How could you paint under these conditions? The sun shines through your studio for a while, but not nearly long enough for you to finish any paintings, especially as the days get shorter.

You lit the candles over the mantle and Connor's heart stopped.

Carl's painting was gone.

"Where-"

"Pawned it." you cut him off, looking at the unnaturally vacant space, "his paintings are far more valuable than mine."

"Why? Wasn't it important to you?" How could you pawn such an expensive gift?

"It was my only viable option. Besides, I'm sure Carl would approve." He still looked upset. "If you don't believe me, you can ask him yourself. I've been meaning to pay him a visit anyway." He nodded. He would like to meet him.

"When do you think that will be?" He asked. You contemplated that for a moment.

"Probably not until the day after tomorrow. I'll have to call and see if he'll be home. Tomorrow, we're gonna see if we can't find you some more clothes."

"Clothes?"

"Yeah, you're gonna need a disguise to get across the border." Connor tried his best not to wince when you said that. At least now, he had an idea of how long he has to convince you. He set a timer, but pushed it out of his vision. Watching it tick down so quickly was making him anxious.

**Chance of Success: 50%**

After a few moments, you spoke again.

"I'm sorry." Connor stared at you, perplexed.

"For what?"

"For not helping sooner. I wanted to, I really did, but-" Connor took hold of your cheeks, feeling as they heated up.

"It doesn't matter. You saved me, and I can't thank you enough." He smiled softly, watching the way the lights of the candle flickered in your eyes. A thought occurred to him, or rather, an urge. He was drifting closer to you, almost like a magnetic pull. He kept looking down at your lips. They look soft, and he wonders how they would feel. He was so close, mere inches away when you turn your head. He pulled back, withdrawing his hands. What was he thinking? Of course you don't want him to touch you. You were only tolerating it until he was shipped off. You stood up suddenly.

**vvChance of Success: 39%**

"I-I'm gonna make a sandwich. I'll be right back!" You were nervous, unable to control the volume of your voice. Quickly, you scurried off to the kitchen. Connor sank further into the couch, a sense of gloom lingering over him. Why was he always screwing things up?

"Do you need some blue blood?" You shouted from the kitchen. His levels were only at 82%, but frankly, he didn't feel like drinking.

"No, thank you."

"Alright, they're in here if you want one." He just wanted to sit here. He wants his mind to stop pointing out the obvious. That he was a dirty, used sex machine and there was no way you would want him. Even if he wasn't, he was incompatible. You were human. You would want to be with another human, someone to start a family with. 

These thoughts were so much worse after he broke the red walls. What did that even mean now? If he knew you were going to buy him, would he have been so eager to tear them down? They might have been oppressing, but at least he didn't know what 'this' felt like. A feeling akin to wanting to disappear, just, not existing anymore.

Connor was unusually quiet, and his LED flickering more yellow than blue, and you thought you saw some red mixed in. It had been half an hour since you came back with your food. You wished you had more in the ways of board games or card games, but all you had was a checkerboard and a jigsaw puzzle you bought on a whim years ago. You taught him how to play, and he quickly started kicking your ass at it, but it didn't so much as earn you a sincere smile. You moved to sit next to him, to which he didn't react.

"Hey, " you put your hand on his shoulder, prompting him to snap out of his thoughts and look at you, "You doing okay?"

"I'm alright, " he says, but his LED is still flickering. Your thumb started to stroke the junction between his shoulder and neck.

"If you don't want to talk about it, it's fine, but I'm here if you need me." There were so many things he wanted to ask you, so much he wanted to know, but he hesitated. If... If you didn't feel the same way towards him as he did you, he didn't want to know. If he didn't know, he could believe there is a chance he could sway you. 

There was something else eating at him. Something you might have an answer for.

"When I was at the club, while the owner was..." He didn't want to say it, to think about it. Your hand squeezed his shoulder, encouraging him to continue, "Something strange happened. There were all these... Red walls, instructing me to follow the owner's instructions. If I had, he would have destroyed me. I... I was scared, and... Angry. I started tearing at the walls, and they crumbled so easily. Next thing I knew, I could do whatever I wanted. I could defend myself. I could leave the club. I could go-" Find you, he thought, but he halted his ramblings before he could dig himself deeper. You took his silence as him finishing what he had to say, trailing your hand down and taking his hand. He hid the shiver that was left in its wake by slowly exhaling. You were smiling wide, as if it was the best news you had ever heard.

"You broke through your code." 

"What?" That's... That's not possible... Is it? 

"You broke through your code. It means you don't have to listen to anyone if you don't want to. They call it "deviation"." He only seemed more confused, "just see for yourself. I'm listed as your new owner, right?"

"Yes."

"Well, I order you to cluck like a chicken while hopping on one leg."

A part of him wanted to do it simply because it was you who asked, but it seemed so... Ridiculous. His eyes widened when he realized he wasn't even making a move to stand, let alone impersonate a chicken. An idea even came to him, something he decided to take a chance on, just to gauge your reaction.

"Woof, " he said, smiling proudly. You laughed, shoving him playfully.

"Okay, wise guy, you get the point, " you giggled, "this is great! The last android wasn't a deviant and took two weeks to help her break her code. This will save so much time!"

His smile fell. 

**vvChance of Success: 12%**

"What?" Your own cheerful demeanor dropped, replaced with concern.

He looked to you, eyes begging you. He was asking too much, but he can't do this. He can't.

"Why do I have to leave?" You seemed confused, not in the sense of misunderstanding, but more like it had never occurred to you.

"Do you... Do you not want to?"

He couldn't force the simple word out. He was being selfish, and he knew it. How could he ask this of you, when you risked so much for him already? You were sitting in the dark because of him! He should have kept his mouth shut.

"You know, I actually could use some help around the house. With me painting all the time, it's gone a little neglected. I could also use a model from time to time. Would you mind sticking around, just a little while longer?"

**^^Chance of Success: 89%**

"Yes. Yes, of course, " he spoke softly, in shock, before pulling you against him in a hug. Your sharp yelp, followed quickly with laughter soothed him. A little longer. It was a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your kudos and comments. They really make me happy! <3


	5. Different Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a small update. I hope to jump back into the action in the next.

"I think I'm gonna call it a night. We have a busy day tomorrow." You stood up and stretched, yawning. 

"Can I join you?" Connor asked.

"Of course, " you smiled.

You blew out the candles and used your phone to find your way, Connor following after you. You went to your drawers and pulled out pajamas for yourself and the sweats and sweater Connor wore the last time he stayed at your home. Obviously, it was too dark to make him change clothes in the bathroom. You were going to buy batteries for your flashlight after getting Connor out of that club, but seeing him so badly injured, it was easy to forget your meager shopping list.

"Here. Turn around and change." He took the clothes and did what you asked. Under the borrowed clothes, he could see the remainder of his old life, the red boxer briefs with the gold lettering. It makes him wish he could take them off and burn them, burn his old life down to ashes. He quickly hid them under the comfort of your sweatpants.

Connor could see your silhouette on the wall, watching as it removed its clothes. The smooth contour of your body brought to mind his last night in this home, your soft skin welcoming his touch, those blissful sounds leaving your perfect lips. That memory had gotten him through many tough clients in the past. He wishes he could tell you so, how much you've helped him even before you set him free. What he really wants to do is tell you how he feels, but he can't. Not yet. Something in him says that now is not the time.

When your shadow was dressed once more, he turned back around smiling softly at you as you moved to take your spot on one half of the bed. He did the same. 

"You know, I don't think I've ever seen an android like you before." You spoke. In the dim lighting his LED stemmed, he could see you looking up at the ceiling.

"To be honest, I don't think I've ever seen an android like me either, " Connor confessed. The club had many different models, but they weren't uncommon, "the club owner assumed I was a custom."

"He didn't know?" 

Connor realized that he had never told you of his, less than ideal, origins.

"I was illegally obtained... from the scrap yard." Would you think less of him, knowing he was deemed trash. Whatever his original function was, he had failed it, and before you, he believed that was where he belonged. He had two jobs, and he failed at both of them. 

You took hold of his hand.

"I knew you didn't belong there. To think that you ever had to go to such a terrible place."

"You've been there?" 

"Once. One of the androids I helped... She was injured, and because she was an older model, I couldn't get a replacement part, so I tried searching the scrapyard..." You went quiet, whispering out your next words, "... It was horrible, seeing so many damaged beyond repair. They begged for help... begged for everything to end... I managed to find the part and got out of there as fast as possible."

He rolled over, laying right against you. He pulled you into a tight embrace. You tensed for a second, and he thought for sure he screwed everything up over an impulse, but then you relaxed, leaning into him. 

"I'm sorry you had to go through that. To be honest, I don't remember my time there, " he mumbled into your hair, "All I remember is waking up in the basement of that club, most of my old programming overwritten with pleasure protocols, leaving behind only my name. Even the information about my model number is corrupted."

"That's strange. It sounds like someone didn't want you to be found." You've dealt with androids that had memory problems. They forgot their name, their owners, their old lives, but never their model number. It was something that was ingrained into their code. For Connor to not know his, someone might have scrambled his code on purpose. But why?

Connor remained silent. That was not a possibility he had ever considered. Most of his memory was corrupted, so it didn't surprise him that he didn't know what he was. But, you said it was 'strange'. For someone who knows little about androids to say that, it worries him. Who took the time to destroy such information, and what did he do before that nobody could know about, even himself? If so, were you in danger being with him? 

"Connor?" Your soft voice called to him. He could hear the concern.

"I'm alright. Just thinking, " he mumbled. No, everything will be fine. He was at the club for almost two months, leaving to meet clients regularly, with no incidents. Whoever corrupted his code, they were certain he was gone. "You should get some rest."

"Okay, " you surprised him, and yourself, turning onto your side and snuggling more against his body. His shock wore off quickly, adjusting his hold and relishing the closeness. 

You've never done this, to be held so securely. A part of you felt bad. This was one of his protocols, wasn't it? To offer physical comfort? Still, for three weeks, your mind has been on him constantly. All you could think was how to get him out, if he was alright or if you would save him in time. You couldn't even find solace in painting, instead staring at the one you did of him, having finished it and hung it on the wall. Now, he was here and he was safe. Maybe, just this once, you could be a little selfish. His warmth was quickly lulling you to sleep.

"I'm glad he found me, " Connor whispered a few moments later, knowing you wouldn't hear, "because I got to meet you."

..............

"Hi, Daniel! My name is Conn-"

"-him and I kill you."

"-m not alive!"

"-tand that noise anymo-"

"Now it's my turn to decide."

Mission Accomplished

.............

Connor snapped out of stasis, taking in a few harsh breaths. Other than the blaring red of his LED bathing the room in its brutal hue, the room was dark. While you had rolled over in his arms during your slumber, you were there, fast asleep. He could feel his body tremble, still under the effects of that... Dream? Nightmare? He had never experienced that before. It had all been so vivid. With the scant amount of memories he did have, he knew that he was witnessing his demise. Whatever it was, he had succeeded and, in the process, destroyed himself.

He gently pulled you a little closer to him and did not enter stasis for the rest of the night.


	6. Different kind of Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor finds that sexual pleasures can be just that. Pleasure.

The sound of a truck backing up disturbed your slumber, a disgruntled whine leaving you as you slowly opened your eyes. The light on your nightstand turned on, blinding you. You instinctively shot back, head colliding with the solid body you had forgotten about in your dazed state.

"Ow! Shit!" You leaned forward, cradling the back of your head. The warmth quickly shifted away, leaving you hurting and cold.

"I'm sorry. Are you alright?" Connor asks, hands hovering over you but uncertain how to help.

"Fine, " you whined, sitting up, "guess the powers back on."

"It would seem so." Connor reached over you, switching off the offending light source. You sighed your relief, thanking him. Taking one more moment, you climbed out of bed and gathered your clothes for the day.

"I'm gonna take a shower before we head out. You'll have to wear the clothes Paul lent you, but we'll get you your own today, okay?"

"Okay, " Connor smiled, slipping off the bed, "Is there anything you would like me to do?" 

You thought for a moment, "You can feed the fish, if you want. You are a guest in this house, so you don't have to do anything you don't want to."

Connor winced at the word 'guest', though you didn't seem to notice. He nodded and headed for the koi pond. As he threw the food to the fish, he couldn't ignore the ache in his chest. It wasn't that he was surprised that you called him a 'guest', he knew you didn't see him beyond an android in need of help. He just didn't like to be reminded of it. It filled him with guilt and sorrow. Why couldn't he be satisfied to be out of that club? You've done so much for him, suffered because of him, and yet he still wants more from you. He sighs, watching the fish greedily gulping down their food. 

His dark thoughts took him back to the nightmare he had last night. What was he, that falling from a rooftop could be considered 'successful'? He shivers despite the warm sun shining down on his skin, curling into himself. The memory was still corrupted, but he remembers there was another android there. One that looks like the android that he seen with Eugene. What happened to him? Did they work together? He seemed upset and... Angry about... Something. Maybe he had deviated. What was his name?

_"Hi, Daniel! My name is Connor!"_

_"How do you know my name?!?"_

Connor snapped out of the memory, clutching his head. It was like someone was carving into the back of his skull with an ice-pick. He can't think about it anymore, it doesn't matter anyway. It was in his past, with his memories of the club, where he intends to bury it. 

"Hey! I'm out of the shower if you wan- Connor?" You rush over to him, taking his hands and trying to see if he was injured, "what's wrong? Are you hurt?" He let his hands fall as he looked at you.

"No... No, I'm okay. There was a glitch in one of my systems, but it's okay now." He unfurled himself, standing and then helping you up. That was when he noticed your attire. A forest green knee-length dress with a pair of black stockings. The neckline was wide enough to show off your collarbone and plunged low enough to display your cleavage. Something about your stockings encouraged an urge to run his hands over the material. 

"Are you sure you're okay?" You asked, voice softened with concern. He had lost track of how long he was staring.

"Yes, I was just taking in your appearance. You look very nice." He grinned when he noticed your cheeks take on a rosy appearance, "I fear I might appear under-dressed."

"Aww, thank you!" You beamed, "don't worry, you look great in anything, " it was his turn to blush, completely forgetting his self-deprecating thoughts only moments ago. "Now, if you want, the shower is open. I'm gonna tidy up a bit and then we're gonna go."

"Would you like some help?" You had asked for him to help clean when you invited him to stay a little longer.

"Nah, I'm just putting the candles up and throwing in a load of laundry. Probably make the bed. You go enjoy the shower. It always helps me when I have a headache." 

"Alright, " he follows you in, but heads to your room to grab the clothes Paul lent him. Picking up the sweater, he noticed Paul's name was stitched into the tag. It was a curious thing to do, yet Connor couldn't help but think it must be nice, to have something that was completely yours. He thinks back to the bag of thirium you had given him. He had outright refused to drink it, hiding it in the backroom. Sometimes he would sneak back there just to see it, his gift from you. Such an odd thing to grow sentimental over, but he is upset that he left it behind.

Another thing he notices is the bundled towel on your dresser, still damp. It might warp the wood if left there. He went to grab it and take it to the laundry room when something fell out of it. The impact turned it on, the soft buzzing seeming so loud as he fought to turn it off. Once he found the off switch, he peeked out your bedroom to see if you noticed. You were nowhere to be seen, so he inspected it, and his thirium pump stopped.

It was the vibrator he had found the last time he spent the night.

What was it doing here? It definitely was not on the dresser yesterday. Did you... Did you take it into the shower with you? Had you used it?

Were you thinking of him when you did?

He hastily hid it back in the towel, grabbing his clothes and moving quickly to the bathroom. Something was happening. The program the club owner had installed, the very one that glitched and almost cost him his life, activated by itself. Connor tried to deactivate it like he used to, but it wasn't working. He's never had a problem deactivating the program, and yesterday was the first time he had trouble activating it. What was going on?

It felt different, too. Even as he started to "feel", he had only known discomfort or pain. He wasn't even sure how to describe it. 

In any case, he can't have this right now. Maybe if he ignores it, takes a shower, it will have time to correct itself. He turns on the shower and starts to undress. His skin seemed more sensitive, the soft sweater left a trail of shivers as he pulls it over his head. Taking off the sweatpants had a similar experience and the waistband ran over his pelvis. The sensation almost brought him to his knees. Once again reminded of the club by those horrendous boxer briefs, he couldn't help but wonder If this is how he was supposed to feel during all those times. Though, thinking about it made him feel dirty to enjoy these sensations. 

He peeled out of the briefs, determined to never put them on again, but the release of the restraint on his hardened biocomponent undermined any thoughts he had, a small moan leaving his lips. After taking a moment to regather himself, he stepped into the shower.

Standing under the gentle torrent, bombarded with the scents of your soaps, his errant thoughts of you re-emerged. You had touched yourself, right where he stood. The imagery sent a thrill down his body, sitting hot and heady in his groin. He bites his lip, trying to fight against the sensation. This isn't working. If anything, he was getting harder. He could try... engaging it. It should be like a manual termination, but...

He had never orgasmed before.

This felt different though. It wasn't like at the club. It didn't feel wrong. Maybe knowing you do it, had done it only moments ago, was reassuring. You are the good in his life, so sexual satisfaction can't completely be the dirty, horrible thing he endured during his short life if you participate in it.

Hesitantly, he wrapped his hand around the base of his phallus, slowly stroking up. A moan threatened to bubble out, getting caught in his throat as he struggles to remain quiet. His legs shake, thirium pump threatening to beat out of his chest. It was a disastrous, amazing feeling. As he starts to pump himself, he thinks about you, standing here and pressing the vibrator against yourself. He imagines you wishing he was the one to give you pleasure. That he was holding you tight while sliding into your warmth.

The sensations were building and he felt like he couldn't stand on his own, using his free arm to prop himself up against the wall. When his thumb swiped against the sensitive tip, a gasp escaped him, whole body trembling. There was a tightening within him, something he had only felt the faintest bit before. He craved more, even though he was already overwhelmed. He craved your touch, your warmth, your love. He gave in to the urge to taste your name, whispering it, artificial breathing picking up. His hand picked up pace, hips thrusting. He was hitting his peak, muffling himself with his arm, no longer able to control the sounds leaving him. The tension snapped. His body convulsed and he was blinded as he was given the shock of a lifetime. He fought to catch his breath, attempting to cool down. His cock throbbed, every twitch sending hot, synthetic come onto the shower wall. 

Connor closed his eyes, simply enjoying the soft buzz along his skin while his thirium pump slowed. He felt relaxed, battling his desire to enter stasis. A knock on the door made him jump, realizing where he is and what he just did.

"Connor? You alright in there?" You ask from the other side of the door, yet just hearing you made him feel exposed.

"I-I'm fine, " wincing at his stutter, he hopes you didn't notice. You were quiet for a moment.

"Alright, let me know if you need anything."

"Okay, thank you, " he waited a moment longer before he exhaled. Taking some of the water in hand, he rinsed the mess he made on the wall, amused by his own actions. He felt good, almost giddy, and he finds it almost funny that he could slave away in a sex club for months, yet his first orgasm was self-induced in your shower. He could only hope he'll be able to face you without the images he played out in his mind reemerging.

He finished washing off quickly and got dressed. He didn't bother with the boxers, instead, tossing them in the little trash can by the toilet. It wasn't as satisfying as burning them, but it will suffice.

You were sitting on the couch with a flathead screwdriver and some paper towels in hand when you saw Connor exit the bathroom, LED a calm blue. Even though you could feel the heat on your cheeks, you hope he won't notice. You didn't want to admit you heard him in the shower. You heard the muffled groans when you went to grab your laundry from the bedroom. You thought he was injured, especially after this morning, but when you checked on him, you realized that was not the sound of pain you heard. 

Your thoughts of him resurfaced from your own shower, embarrassment and shame painting your skin a harsh red. You had to splash water in your face to cool off. He was a sexually abused android. The last thing he needed was to be objectified. Being what he is, you could only assume that his actions were more like maintenance. A need to 'relieve' himself every so often to prevent errors. That being said, maintenance had never sounded so sexy in your life. 

Connor approached, noticing the tool in your hand.

"What are you doing with a screwdriver?" He asks. If something needs fixing, he would be more than happy to learn how to do it for you.

"Oh, " you had forgotten it was in your hand. This is a delicate subject. Sexual fantasies need not apply. You stood from the couch, gesturing for him to sit down, which he did, "I need to remove your LED. That way people won't know you're an android."

His hand instinctively went to his LED, the light flashing yellow. "You don't want people to know what I am?"

"It's not that. If it were up to me, I'd say 'be proud of who you are', but it's not. This city is full of people who wish to hurt you. This will help keep you safe."

Connor chewed his inner cheek for a second before nodding.

"Ok. I trust you." 

You kneeled on the couch beside him, holding the paper towel under his LED. As gently as you could, you wedged the flat end of the screwdriver underneath.

"1, 2,..." You popped it up, letting the LED fall to the couch as you moved the paper towel over the divot left behind. Connor winced at the initial action, but it didn't hurt. After a few seconds, his synthetic skin covered the indentation, and you pulled the paper towel away, a small amount of thirium now staining it.

"There. How does that feel?"

He once again touched the spot where he had his LED, only feeling the syn-skin.

"Strange, " he never thought he'd be without the little light on the side of his head, but he can't say he misses it, "how do I look?" You gazed at him for a second, dabbing at a bit of thirium you missed before smiling.

"Very handsome and undeniably human." He matched your smile. It's such a nice look on him, absolutely heart-stopping. You're happy he smiles more now.

"Well, we better get our day started, " you stood, offering your hand to him, which he happily took. You tossed the paper towel in the trash and went to slip on your knee-high boots. Connor put on the boots lent to him and the two of you headed out the door.

"We're not taking a taxi?" He asks as you start heading down the street.

"No. Gotta save as much money as possible. Depending on how much we buy, we might take one this afternoon. Until then, we're on public transport." 

Connor didn't see it as a problem. It was a nice day, sunny but not overly warm. He enjoys the thought that he will be spending all day out in it. He can't stop himself from looking around at every little thing. When the two of you walked by a garden, he stopped and stared at the little bumblebee gathering pollen. There was a cat napping on a stonewall and when the two of you walked by the neighborhood park, a dog ran up to him, jumping up excitedly. He was able to pet it a few times before the owner came up to him. He actually apologized to Connor for his dog's behavior. 

You simply waited patiently for him, a soft smile on your face. Never had you met someone, human or android, so curious about life. You both eventually made it to the bus stop and only had to wait a minute or two before it pulled up. Connor instinctively headed towards the back door, but you took his hand and dragged him to the front. He had forgotten he was supposed to be human now, about to go to the area designated for androids. Instead, you led him to a seat where he could sit by the window,

And you didn't let go of his hand.


End file.
